12/4/00 Ashton Dennis - Catherine Morland? Susan? Would not a Rose by any other name smell as sweet?

Dear Folks,

You will have to be very, very patient with me on this one. - Just be assured that I am leading up to a comment on Northanger Abbey.

I was eleven years old in the summer of 1949. - That was the summer between the sixth and seventh grades. I had organized the neighborhood boys into a baseball team (that is an odd thing about me - I am forever organizing things, things that range from that baseball team to this web site.) Anyway, there was this girl, Pat Rose, who wanted to join the team. (It is odd what you remember sometimes - I remember that Pat's dad was a contractor or something because his name was on his pickup.) The other guys ridiculed her, but I immediately signed her to a free-agent contract. Those of you who know me are certain that I am not a feminist and never could have been. It was just that I noticed that she was a far better first-baseman than any of those guys - It was a cold-blooded personnel decision made in the best interest of the team. Besides, we didn't have nine players in any case. She played the entire schedule with us that year which consisted of only two games, both with those mean-spirited cheaters from McNear Avenue.

OK, so, Pat Rose was very grateful and decided to make me her particular friend. I can still remember looking out my front door and seeing Pat across the street, sitting in that tall grass on the side of a drainage ditch, waiting for me to finish dinner. She was wearing a baseball cap and I was slightly embarrassed - I didn't know why. I remember that Pat and I went bowling once and I also remember my extreme confusion at the meaning of this event. I played it like I was bowling with a first-baseman, but the neighborhood guys had sniggering, different opinions. I was confused. Well, as it turns out, Pat was really good at playing pin-ball while I watched. Then something weird happened, these high school guys started flirting with her. I still can picture her face and expression - she was absolutely delighted, but didn't tilt her machine - continued to run up her score. Now I was really confused. Should I invite those guys to step outside to beat me up? Should I be proud of my first-baseman? Should I improve my pin-ball? I did what any eleven year old would do - I stood around confused and mortified.

Then school started. I was raised in one of those coastal valleys in Northern California, where it is still very hot in the Fall, so Pat wore a summer dress on that first day back to school. I never spoke to her again. She left our school a few years later and from that first day of Junior High School to the day she left, I neither spoke to her nor even made a sign that I knew she existed on this earth. Perhaps she thought me too proud, too stuck up, too prejudiced - most girls thought that of me. Some few guessed the truth. The truth is that I was entering that worst phase of my life when it would have the most painful - the most insupportable thing in the world for me to have talked to a pretty girl. Make no mistake - with that sun dress, Pat had passed through "pretty" right into loveliness. I wasn't, but I should have been proud of my first-baseman.

This is the way that Jane Austen introduces Catherine Morland to us.

"... [The Morlands] were in general very plain, and Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as any. She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and strong features -- so much for her person; and not less unpropiteous for heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all boy's plays, and greatly preferred cricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird, or watering a rose-bush. Indeed she had no taste for a garden; and if she gathered flowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischief -- at least so it was conjectured from her always preferring those which she was forbidden to take. ... Writing and accounts she was taught by her father; French by her mother: her proficiency in either was not remarkable, and she shirked her lessons in both whenever she could. What a strange, unaccountable character! -- for with all these symptoms of profligacy at ten years old, she had neither a bad heart nor a bad temper, was seldom stubborn, scarcely ever quarrelsome, and very kind to the little ones, with few interruptions of tyranny; she was moreover noisy and wild, hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well in the world as rolling down the green slope at the back of the house.

Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen, appearances were mending; she began to curl her hair and long for balls; her complexion improved, her features were softened by plumpness and colour, her eyes gained more animation, and her figure more consequence. Her love of dirt gave way to an inclination for finery, and she grew clean as she grew smart; she had now the pleasure of sometimes hearing her father and mother remark on her personal improvement. "Catherine grows quite a good-looking girl -- she is almost pretty today," were words which caught her ears now and then; and how welcome were the sounds! To look almost pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has been looking plain the first fifteen years of her life than a beauty from her cradle can ever receive.

Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, and wished to see her children everything they ought to be; but her time was so much occupied in lying-in and teaching the little ones, that her elder daughters were inevitably left to shift for themselves; and it was not very wonderful that Catherine, who had by nature nothing heroic about her, should prefer cricket, base ball, riding on horseback, and running about the country at the age of fourteen, to books -- or at least books of information -- for, provided that nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them, provided they were all story and no reflection, she had never any objection to books at all. But from fifteen to seventeen she was in training for a heroine; she read all such works as heroines must read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful lives."

The comparison doesn't end there; Pat was also honest, earnest, and spoke in an artless, disinterested, direct manner! Is that weird or what? I am going to go online to see if I can view the Regency-period equivalent of a summer dress.

12/4/00 Linda - By Julie, I think he's got it! - the "depth" of JA

Dear Meister,

In your post of 12/1 you indicated a disagreement with Julie over the complexity of NA.  If you didn't believe it was complex, what was it, in your opinion?  Fluff?  Just a simple story with no depth?  Something to merely amuse us?   Julie will indeed be proud of you, especially in light of your seeing a "real" person in the young Catherine Morland (post 12/4).  Amazing!

On the 12/2 Post: I remember when I first read those conversations you quoted between Catherine, Isabella and John Thorpe, I was not familiar with Grandison or Udolpho as I now am.  So much of the humor was lost on me.  Thank you for pointing it out - with understanding comes enjoyment.  Upon the recommendation of Isabella and John Thorpe, I shall have an opposite view towards Grandison and Udolpho.

In your reference to (Something I once said) I noticed this sentence:

Our great novelists have been among our greatest teachers and their lessons are preserved in that most human of all institutions, the library.

That is my point - JA is a teacher! Ray's response went even further to lament the fact of so many literature teachers dwelling on the irony almost to the exclusion of everything else - another pet peeve of mine.  I suppose my experience was even worse that that.  The schools I attended never even mentioned JA.  The only redemption to the dearth of JA was my 7th grade English teacher who had P&P in her "library" on the back wall of the classroom.

In your reply you mentioned Tess of the d'Urbervilles.  That book languishes unread on my bookshelf. I suppose now, in order for me to properly understand your POV, I will have to read it.  I saw the movie Jude the Obscure and was not inspired to read that book or any other Hardy.

In your post of 12/4 your comparison is inspiring!  Your last quoted paragraph contains the young Catherine's opinion of books:

...for, provided that nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them, provided they were all story and no reflection, she had never any objection to books at all.

If Jane wrote that (and she did) how on earth could it be possible for her to write a story without useful knowledge and reflection (and complexity)?  I am reminded of her commenting on some authors who wrote novels within which "novels" were degraded.  She did not do that, so how could she write a story without useful knowledge and reflection (excepting some juvenilia perhaps that were not intended to be published.)

I do believe you have made your point - and Julie's, and Cheryl's and mine!  There is more there if we only but look!

12/4/00 Ashton - reply

Dear Linda,

My former opinion of Northanger Abbey was that it is a comedic masterpiece and, therefore, belonged at the bottom of my Jane-Austen list. You and Cheryl have shaken the foundations of my understanding and evaluations. Incidentally, I think that you - as well as myself - associated one of those characters with a living person. - True?

I hope you will give Hardy another chance; but, for God's sake, don't read Jude. That novel even finished Hardy off - he never wrote another novel even though he lived another 30 years. That film you mentioned followed the novel fairly closely except the novel has an even worse ending - yes, I wrote WORSE. Read Tess and I think you will change your mind about Hardy - I hope so. Incidentally, there is an absolutely perfect filmed-version of Tess starring Justine Waddell - what an angel, what a perfect Tess! If you rent that, check my contention that Ms. Waddell would have been a perfect Fanny Price. There is one rule you should know: it is a scientific fact that you can be restored to your former self, after reading a Hardy novel, only by quickly re-reading two by Jane Austen.

I don't quite understand your complaint about Jane Austen's comment on Catherine's reading. I don't see how Catherine could become enthralled with Udolpho if she had been reading serious matter previously. Do you agree this was necessary for the plot line? Notice that it was Catherine's mother who was reading Grandison - Jane Austen took care of details.

12/5/00 Linda - Upon closer examination

Dear Ashton,

Upon closer examination I see that I was not clear.  Let me sort myself out.  In my comment "Upon the recommendation of Isabella and John Thorpe, I shall have an opposite view towards Grandison and Udolpho" (which I think is the basis for your question) I was alluding to the fact that Isabella liked Udolpho and did not like Grandison.  John Thorpe was totally unsure of everything.  My opposite view is, therefore, I will like Grandison and dislike Udolpho.

Your statement:  "I don't see how Catherine could become enthralled with Udolpho if she had been reading serious matter previously."  I didn't catch that - good point.

You said: Notice that it was Catherine's mother who was reading Grandison - Jane Austen took care of details.  Correct and Catherine Morland said:  " 'It [Grandison] is not like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it [Grandison] is very entertaining.' "  Sounds like Catherine has read Grandison, which I believe you were so saying in the paragraph above.

You asked: "Do you agree this [Catherine liking Udolpho] was necessary for the plot line?"  Yes, in the sense that Udolpho  "set up" Catherine for the trip to the Abbey, where consequently she had her awakening.  JA does not tell us if she then had a change of mind about Udolpho - that I remember, correct me if I am wrong.

Does this straighten anything out?   Good luck!

12/5/00 Ashton - new questions

Dear Linda,

Your comment about the Thorpes, their reading, and your contrary view was always quite clear to me. I had - and now have - no questions there.

Let me re-write something from my "reply." The last sentence in the first paragraph should have been a new paragraph and it should have been written, "Incidentally, I think that you - as well as myself - have now associated one of the characters in Northanger Abbey with a living person. True?"

I do not think that it was Jane Austen's intent that we think Catherine read Grandison. As you know, that novel - that tome, is very long, intensely serious, and very meaty. It seems to me that we are to understand that Catherine was not reading that sort of thing in this part of her life. But, things are not so explicit - are subject to interpretation, so perhaps you are right. Incidentally, did you notice that both Tilney and his sister also read Mrs. Radcliffe? They especially liked Udolpho. The difference is that they did not confuse those things with their serious reading - saw the gothic novels as pure entertainment.

I am preparing a posting on Northanger Abbey, which may shock you with my attitude. Here is a hint: I don't think that Jane Austen actually completed her work on that novel and might even be a bit disappointed that it was published after her death. I won't be able to prove that, but I will be able to supply enough interpretation to influence some. Interested?

12/1/00 Linda - To Laurie

Dear Laurie,

I would love to read a gothic novel with you, especially in view of my recent post.  I thought The Mysteries of Udolpho would be appropriate.  I was unable to find the complete novel on line, so I ordered a copy from the library. I want to start Sanditon also, but we can do Udolpho slowly in order to discuss it.  Hopefully, I will better understand NA after reading it.  Let me know if this is OK with you.

12/1/00 Laurie - Re: Udolpho

Dear Linda,

Sounds interesting!  I will probably need to order a copy of it as well, but I will let you know when I get it.  Actually, this timing is perfect for me.  Finals are in 2 weeks and after that I'll be home for about 5 weeks.  Let me know when you're ready to begin!

12/1/00 Linda - Udolpho reading

Dear Laurie,

I will let you know - your timing sounds great.  I should be ready when your finals are finished. I hope that others will join us - everyone, please join us.

I am looking forward to the reading.  In the meanwhile, concentrate on those finals.  My best wishes,
Linda

12/1/00 Linda - Sorting it all out - Northanger Abbey

Dear Cheryl, Laurie, and Ashton,

I seem to be having some trouble understanding the definition of "parody" (according to the dictionary - a humorous or satirical imitation of a serious piece of literature or writing). I envisioned a parody as using basically the same characters and plot as the imitated piece - with its sole purpose being to ridicule the original - for example, a Carol Burnett skit called "As the Stomach Turns."  (I know, I know, As the World Turns is not a serious piece of literature - on the other hand, to some people it may be!)

The first 3 paragraphs of Cheryl's further explanation of 11/21 beautifully described what I had not taken into consideration in my limited understanding and definition of "parody".  Now I understand!  Now that 4th paragraph - the unpleasant part - the comedy.  In your comments on humor you asked, "Isn't that enough?"  For me, no.  You called Jane's novels "comic masterpieces", and they very well are, but I also see something else - human nature and reality.  I want to add "purpose" to that, but I haven't completed that search yet.

In opposition to all that comedy, let me illustrate with one example a serious side which others might find "funny" - namely General Tilney.  You refer to him as "a second villain".  To me those words conjure up a picture of a silent movie "bad guy", and they were kind of "funny looking."  Because I have known one, I see something quite different in General Tilney.  I noticed his behavior throughout the book and concluded that he was manic-depressive to some degree with a touch of obsessive compulsive disorder.  He needed a good dose of lithium among other things.

What I noticed about him is in the following list which describes the General in Jane's own words (italicized) with my comments in brackets:

• seemed always a check upon his children's spirits [you are not allowed to do anything]
• his angry impatience at the waiters [and everybody else]
• strictest punctuality to the family hours would be expected... [dominates every aspect of your life]
• anxious entreaty to hurry her dressing time [he is not to be inconvenienced]
• Miss Tilney gently hinted her fear of being late [always fear of a blow up and/or a lecture from 1 to 4 hours]
• for General Tilney was pacing the drawing-room, his watch in his hand, and having, on the very instant of their entering, pulled the bell with violence, ordered "Dinner to be on the table directly!" [always has to voice his displeasure]
• He [G. Tilney] turned away  and Catherine was shocked to find how much her spirits were relieved by the separation.  [There are several instances where "relief" is expressed upon separation.]
• His son and daughter's observations were of a different kind.  They had seldom seen him eat so heartily at any table but his own, and never before known him so little disconcerted by the melted butter's being oiled.  [and a million other minor infractions/trivialities]
• Eleanor's forced performance in dismissing Catherine [someone else always has to do the "dirty" work]
• Eleanor's request that Catherine write to her under cover to Alice [you have to "live" behind his back]

Each item taken separately does not a crisis make, but when all these instances manifest in one person you have a manic-depressive also suffering with obsessive compulsive disorder.  No one could make up such behavior!  Jane had to have witnessed it but had not idea that it was a mental disorder.  I have felt the fear, terror, embarrassment, relief, and it definitely was not funny to me.  I do remember my Father and Brother came to visit once and noticed my behavior in anticipation of a blow up from my "general".  They thought I was hilarious.  Just for a few seconds I visualized the scene from their point of view and it was funny.  But from my perspective it was not.

I am reminded of an incident when I saw The Glass Menagerie performed on stage.  I vaguely remember a domineering Mother in the play very similar to General Tilney.  The play left me drained and sad.  As I was leaving I noticed there were quite a few people with pained expressions on their faces as if they were as affected as I was.  I couldn't help but wonder what they had been through personally.

Can you now understand why I find General Tilney so disturbing and not at all funny?  By this study of both points of view, I realize as Dave said, "It's what you bring to it."  My baggage led me to "see" the sick General Tilney, whereas you, Cheryl, were able to see the comedy. Allowing for our differences of situation and temper, my question is - what was the intent of our Lady?

Cheryl - I have never heard of A Good Man Is Hard To Find or The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole ..., but then there is a ton of stuff I have not heard of.  I will look into them, especially since you consider them "unforgettable."  And thanks for your insight - it has helped my understanding tremendously!
Linda

12/1/00 The Meister - Well, I think we can safely call that posting a classic.

Dear Linda,

I thought Cheryl was going to win the Best Posting of the Year Award, but our friend's is only in second place now. I was skeptical when I began to read your treatment of General Tilney, but you completely won me over. Jane Austen never included any extraneous details, and the details are as you say, and her intent must have been as you suggest. By the time I was finished, I was stunned - knocked flat on my back. And, if you think it is easy typing this reply from that position, you have another guess comubf/ I can only pray I am hitting the correct jeys.

It seems that you and Cheryl are commenting on two different books, so it is reasonable to wonder, who is right? I know the answer - you both are. When Julie Grassi was reading here, our Tasmanian friend often tried to convince me that Northanger Abbey was a complex novel and I wouldn't believe her. Your insight combined with Cheryl's help me understand that Julie was right afterall.

I have one major concern: I would be very sorry to believe that yours and Cheryl's insights would languish at only this Internet backwater - some would say "swamp". I have no idea how either of you might find a wider audience, so don't ask. Certainly, other web sites should be visited. Actually, these ideas belong in the archives, but I would never encourage either of you to butt heads against the credentials barrier - Still, it is a shame that the two of you are not written up somewhere.

12/1/00 Linda - An encouraging word, re: Grandison

Dear Ashton,

It will be a little bit before I can find time to read Grandison.  I mainly got the book just to look up the reference to Cleves.  I was unprepared for what I found in the rest of the book. Your very informative post makes me anxious to read it.

Last night my daughter was doing some hand quilting, the kids were running loose, and we were watching "Frazier".  I only had a couple of "noiseless" minutes during a commercial to tell her about Grandison.  Here is the "encouraging word": she wanted me to write down the name of the book so I would not forget it, because she wants our (almost) 4 year old to read it when she gets older.  My daughter felt it was that important!  I have read somewhere that our Lady patterned Darcy after Grandison.  If that is so, then my grandson will have to read it also!

In that case I will have to get my own copy so I can "mark" up the memorable parts.  Please keep us informed on what you find!
Linda

12/2/00 Ashton - What Isabella Thorpe said about Grandison in Northanger Abbey

Dear Linda,

Your discussion with your daughter reminds me of something I once said. That would be a good thing to read if you have insomnia; if that doesn't cure you, try the response and then the reply. - sweet dreams!

That, of course, set me to thinking greatly about other great thinkers and I remembered a very wise comment on Grandison made by Isabella Thorpe in Northanger Abbey. Miss Thorpe had only recently made the acquaintance of Catherine Morland who was enthralled with this more experienced young woman who, coincidentally, had captivated her brother, James Morland. Catherine Morland had taken her new mentor's advice and was reading Mrs Radcliffe's gothic novel, Udolpho. Isabella begins the conversation in this way.

'It is so odd to me, that you should never have read Udolpho before; but I suppose Mrs. Morland objects to novels.'

'No, she does not. She very often reads Sir Charles Grandison herself; but new books do not fall in our way.'

'Sir Charles Grandison! That is an amazing horrid book, is it not? I remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume.'

'It is not like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it is very entertaining.'

'Do you indeed! You surprise me; I thought it had not been readable. But, my dearest Catherine, have you settled what to wear on your head tonight? I am determined at all events to be dressed exactly like you. The men take notice of that sometimes, you know.' ...

OK! - so, the woman was also expert on the subject of men! We must also remember that Isabella came from impressively literate bloodlines. - Let me prove that to you. The two young women then met their brothers recently arrived in Bath together and the four were on their way to the Thorpe home. Catherine was walking with John Thorpe and they had the following conversation. (I should tell you that Fanny Burney was the authoress of Camilla and was now known as Madame D'Arblay after her marriage to a French aristocrat.)

'Her companion's discourse now sunk from its hitherto animated pitch to nothing more than a short decisive sentence of praise or condemnation on the face of every woman they met; and Catherine, after listening and agreeing as long as she could, with all the civility and deference of the youthful female mind, fearful of hazarding an opinion of its own in opposition to that of a self-assured man, especially where the beauty of her own sex is concerned, ventured at length to vary the subject by a question which had been long uppermost in her thoughts; it was,

'Have you ever read Udolpho, Mr. Thorpe?'

'Udolpho! Oh, Lord! Not I; I never read novels; I have something else to do.'

Catherine, humbled and ashamed, was going to apologize for her question, but he prevented her by saying, 'Novels are all so full of nonsense and stuff; there has not been a tolerably decent one come out since Tom Jones, except The Monk; I read that t'other day; but as for all the others, they are the stupidest things in creation.'

'I think you must like Udolpho, if you were to read it; it is so very interesting.'

'Not I, faith! No, if I read any, it shall be Mrs. Radcliffe's; her novels are amusing enough; they are worth reading; some fun and nature in them.'

'Udolpho was written by Mrs. Radcliffe,' said Catherine, with some hesitation, from the fear of mortifying him.

'No sure; was it? Aye, I remember, so it was; I was thinking of that other stupid book, written by that woman they make such a fuss about, she who married the French emigrant.'

'I suppose you mean Camilla?'

'Yes, that's the book; such unnatural stuff! An old man playing at see-saw, I took up the first volume once and looked it over, but I soon found it would not do; indeed I guessed what sort of stuff it must be before I saw it: as soon as I heard she had married an emigrant, I was sure I should never be able to get through it.'

'I have never read it.'

'You had no loss, I assure you; it is the horridest nonsense you can imagine; there is nothing in the world in it but an old man's playing at see-saw and learning Latin; upon my soul there is not.'

This critique, the justness of which was unfortunately lost on poor Catherine, brought them to the door of Mrs. Thorpe's lodgings, and the feelings of the discerning and unprejudiced reader of Camilla gave way to the feelings of the dutiful and affectionate son, as they met Mrs. Thorpe, who had descried them from above, in the passage. 'Ah, Mother! How do you do?' said he, giving her a hearty shake of the hand. 'Where did you get that quiz of a hat? It makes you look like an old witch.' ...

I think I have made my point!

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